Three days in San Francisco were slightly jolting, given that my life (for better or for worse) has become increasingly reclusive in the past few years. All was well because it ended well, but I am mad with joy to be back home in the coastal woodlands, communing with the freakin’ abject silence. I was partially worried about Li’l Girl (my feral-turned-huggable cat) because this was the first time I left her for a few days since “adopting” her officially before Christmas. She apparently conducted herself like a lady and was happy to see me.
One of the interviews in the city was quite particularly a success, I thought, but you never truly know until something is printed or delineated. The young journalist, Cara, was refreshingly well-prepared and talented. That was nice to encounter. I tend to presume that people are going to be scattered and unreliable (because they usually ARE) but Cara was one of those sparkling sapphires that proved me wrong. YES! Many cheers for Cara but, again, I will have to see her write-up. Suffice it to say that the interview about the new books went well and that a great many ghosts were roused, rattled, and riddled. I’ll share Cara’s article when she completes it. She did send me a photo I have permission to use; hopefully I will be able to post it, given my neophyte status with WordPress. Anyway, I am home, it was not really a good day (I’m rather grumpy) and I am so ready for bed it is actually painful. Physically. Give me the weekend to exhale.
This is a most inauspicious beginning for my newborn blog, but it will simply have to do. Or, it will have to do, simply. I’m sequestered (like a belligerent budget-cut) in a business hotel in San Francisco, and it is not the hotel I usually prefer to grace with my dubious dollars. Oh no.That hotel was booked and this trip was a bit on the short-notice side of things. I’ll tell you more about what I’m doing in the city in a day or two, though I fear tens of people may be forced to swoon from unreasonable levels of anticipation and breathless curiosity. Suffice it to say that, for the moment, my current lodging, in the Civic Center district near Hayes Valley, provides “courtesy internet service” that is comparable to a slime-exuding garden snail with a thyroid problem, in terms of speed. I shall have to have a word with someone eager to serve at the front desk–a word that shall doubtless be received with the same interest and enthusiasm as might be expected of the aforementioned snail.
Never the less, perhaps it is poignant, even apropos, that we begin our journey together in humble surroundings, you and I. No slick photos, no snappy design upgrades, no sizzlin’ jpegs or widgets. None of these things will upload (and yes, I’m using Chrome), so we must count ourselves fortunate that I am even able to post this introductory message. The razzle-dazzle will come, I assure you, once I return to my cave-like (but Wi-FINE) existence in the mist-shrouded wilds near Big Sur. The purpose of this blog shall become apparent over the days, weeks, months, and centuries–like a grand unfolding, or a gruesome unraveling. Who can say? The title of the blog ought to give you a faint idea of the nature of what I’ll term the blog’s general “tone trajectory,” and my various projects (current and forthcoming) will be discussed at opportune times, because G-d forbid I avoid shameless self-promotion in this age of multimedia wallfowerism. I’ll be rolling a critical eye at virtually everything that can be critiqued, as well: books; films; prominent figures; obscure amusements; disturbing global events; potential signs of the zombie apocalypse; flotsam; jetsam. All commentary will be rendered with utmost delicacy, so feel free to bask in the revelatory exfoliation of our beloved society. I shall be promoting things with which I am inordinately impressed, too. Look your best, friends.
The title for this inaugural post is a swift kiss on the cheek, a riff on the title of the blog, to be certain, but it is also related to a new enthusiasm raging through the spas of America like fungus through the foot-bath of an especially disreputable pedicurist. Indeed, media reports are filtering-in about health resorts, fat farms, spas, and other self-improvement hubs that feature upgrade options involving IV-drips purported to rid patrons of those residual sunburn, hangover, and In & Out Burger discomforts that come with good ol’ American excess. I am making an appointment today for the “Bases Loaded” IV today and shall report back concerning its efficacy with remarkable urgency. Shall we meet by moonlight on the morrow? Let’s do. ~JK